


one of those days

by kathleenfergie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-War, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathleenfergie/pseuds/kathleenfergie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were days when Hermione was okay, where she could get out of bed, drink her tea, and read the Prophet in peace while her and Rose ate breakfast. Those days were nice, where she could smile and laugh at Harry's obviously unfunny jokes, and she could put her feet up on the closest male's lap and they'd rub them without question. On those days, Hermione could almost forget that she was heavily pregnant with her dead husband's second child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one of those days

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I wrote this on a whim. It's set as if Ron had died while Hermione was pregnant with Hugo. I skewed the ages a bit, because I wanted Rose to be able to talk, so she's four instead of two (the age she would actually be if Hermione was pregnant with Hugo). Enjoy!  
> As always I own nothing.

There were days when Hermione was okay, where she could get out of bed, drink her tea, and read the _Prophet_ in peace while her and Rose ate breakfast. Those days were nice, where she could smile and laugh at Harry's obviously unfunny jokes, and she could put her feet up on the closest male's lap and they'd rub them without question. On those days, Hermione could almost forget that she was heavily pregnant with her dead husband's second child. On those days, she was very close to being whole.

Today was not one of those days.

Today Hermione stared at her ceiling, laying in her bed that was too empty, as the sunlight streamed in, reminding her of the day ahead she would have to face. She knew it was well past the time she should have gotten up at. Rose would most likely still be sleeping, and Crookshanks' magicked itself into his bowl every morning, so she was able to wallow for a little while longer. It was a Saturday, usually a busy day for her because she tried to take Rose to both of her grandparents' houses on this day, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to get up.

Hermione traced a finger along the grand swell of her stomach, feeling the movements of her son under the pads of her fingertips. He was lucky, she thought, that he didn't have to live through the sorrow she and Rose had. Hermione still remembered that day, when Ron was gone. Harry had shown up on her doorstep in the middle of the night, tears dripping down his face.

_Ronald Billius Weasley, died at age 29 from the Killing Curse, look inside because Rita Skeeter has the story._

It had been so hard for her to hear the news. She was only three months pregnant at the time, and she thought she would have died from grief. Ron and Harry, along with a team of Aurors, had been staking out a house that was believed as being used for a Pureblood Supremacist association. The team had heard screams and charged in, wands raised. Ron wasn't the only one to die, but the _Prophet_ had glorified the war hero's death on the front page. Her wails had woken Rose and Hermione was so distraught she couldn't even hold her own daughter. Harry had taken them to the Burrow, where they stayed for many weeks.

Four months later, Hermione was back in her own house, trying to cope with the fetus growing inside of her, while at the same time dealing with her grief, and taking care of Rose. It was excruciating, and she hated the world for how it punished her. In the first few weeks she had sound proofed her room because of the nightmares that ended in sobs and Hermione screaming his name into the darkness.

Rose, at four, had been taking it far better than Hermione had. While Hermione had an episode at least once every two weeks, Rose had only had one to date. It happened a month or so after the investigation of his death had ended, on Ron's birthday. Rose had come downstairs with a box wrapped in paper and with a string around it. Hermione was cooking breakfast when her daughter had started screaming and crying about how she had made her father's birthday present, and wrapped it herself, but that he was never going to open it. Hermione had to rock her until she tired herself out from her fit, and Rose had fallen asleep in her arms, on the kitchen floor.

Even through all of her burdens, the hardest thing for Hermione was to see her young daughter in pain.

Before she realized it, Hermione had fallen asleep, and when she woke, Rose's small form was pressed against her, the girl's arms wrapped around Hermione's swollen belly, her head resting atop it, with her face turned away from Hermione's. She was talking to the baby, Hermione realized. Not moving, she kept her eyes closed so that her daughter could continue on with her one sided conversation. Hermione could feel Rose's hand patting her stomach, which Hermione could only discern as a comforting gesture.

'And you see, mummy sometime's get's very cross and you can tell because her lips get all puckered up like she ate something sour, so when she makes that face, just remember to smile and say that you're sorry because that always makes the sour look go away.' Hermione smiled internally, she loved her daughter and her quirky antics. 'Mummy also talks really proper, it sounds like she's always listening to a metronome in her head, like the one I use for learning the piano. It's because she's very smart and sometimes when Uncle Harry reads the paper to me, they call her the 'Brightest Witch of Her Age.' I don't really know what that means but I think it means she always has the answer to things.'

It was true, Hermione often did have the answer to Rose's many long and arduous questions about how the world worked. She hated how the Prophet still insisted on referring to her, Harry, and Ron as either the 'Golden Trio,' or by their given nicknames. Thanks to a few Hogwarts quidditch fanatics who work at the newspaper, they still refer to Ron as 'The King.' It made her laugh, and saddened her at the same time.

'Baby, I know it's going to be really hard when you get here because you won't have a daddy.' Hermione's breathing almost stopped. 'Daddy used to come home and twirl me around the living room, and he'd sing and we'd laugh a lot. Mummy always reads from story books, but when she wasn't home to tuck me in, daddy would come in and make up stories from his head, he never used books.' Hermione hadn't known that, she just assumed that Rose never asked for stories from him. 'Mummy cries a lot, and I know she's really sad, but hopefully when you get here, she'll be happy again. You'll have Uncle Harry, and Aunt Ginny, plus all of daddy's other siblings and we have four grandparents, so even though he won't be here, you'll have a lot of people to dance and sing with. I can make up stories for you, too.'

Hermione felt the baby kick, and Rose giggled.

'It's really hard not having a daddy, but mummy and I'll help you through it.' Rose was quiet for a time, and Hermione was unable to hold back her sniffles for very long. Her daughter looked up at her, a surprised expression taking over her face. 'Mummy! Please don't cry, I didn't mean to upset you!'

Hermione sat up and hushed Rose. 'No, darling, it's alright, I'm not upset. I'm just very happy because I love you so much.' She embraced the girl and rubbed her back. 'You are going to be a wonderful big sister. Thank you for making this a good day.'

She could tell Rose was a little confused by her actions, but nonetheless pleased at the fact that her mother wasn't upset with her. Hermione disentangled herself from the sheets, and she pulled Rose out of her bed.

Together they paddled to the kitchen to make themselves a very late breakfast.


End file.
